


reality, too (ver. 2)

by hellsalem (orphan_account)



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 13:57:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hellsalem
Summary: A re-edited version of this fic. No change in plot really. Took out entire sentences, altered narrative voice I found absurdly written or unnecessary. A few word changes. Text message scene at the end has been cut out completely. Uploading for my benefit as a writer and for an alternate version for readers who would want to see the difference. No tags or fandom since I've already posted it.





	reality, too (ver. 2)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [reality, too (after dark)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429188) by [moonprism (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/moonprism). 



> I needed to submit writing for a final project in a class. I decided to be shitty and use a fic I've already written. I may not submit it and do something else, but here is what I edited into so it could be "suitable" to read and less, uh, homoerotic? I also changed Hansol to Johnny just because Hansol isn't in NCT.
> 
> [LINK TO THE ORIGINAL FIC](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429188). I would like to comment I like the original more. It's more fun and I like the sexier aspect of it. It could use some polishing though. I may in the future. It's also been a year plus a few days since I originally posted this piece. I really did like writing it. Happy Birthday! LOL

Jaehyun can’t remember the last time he washed his clothes. They sit in an unfortunate mountain in the corner of his student apartment, half in the hamper and half on the floor around it as if the hamper couldn’t stand them anymore and vomited them out. Summer semester ended recently, so Jaehyun hadn’t left his apartment much for anything other than class and the occasional meal. And now that classes are over, it’s the same thing, sans class. He doesn’t have the money to do anything, anyway, even though it’s summer. All his money saved up and student loan reimbursements go to the apartment’s rent, his pathetic university meal plan, and the limited spending money he needs to function (or close to that). He can’t afford to do anything else. Life is just: summer semester, eat, sleep, die in bed, repeat. Everyone he knows has gone back home for the summer, so the only friends he has are the ones that live in the same city as the university. But there’s only a few of them, and they all got jobs just for the summer. (“Is this fucking high school?” Jaehyun thinks.) He does his best to keep up with everyone, even if it’s just the occasional reply to their group chat.

For a while there, Jaehyun’s executive dysfunction had obviously gotten the best of him (like, if there is a “best” part of him). But his sheets aren’t even fitted onto his mattress anymore. They’ve become a scrunched up, unclean mess on the now pilling fabric of the mattress (the pilling is uncomfortable and rubs his elbows raw, but he still does nothing about it). His comforter has had soda and beer spilled it on too many times for Jaehyun to get away with it at this point, and the pillowcases of two extremely old, in-need-of-replacing pillows have found their way off their designated bodies and into the crack where bed meets wall.

He can’t ask his friends to hang out over at his apartment. He doesn’t invite them over. He can’t really let them see his room. How he lives—if you could call this living. Contents of his backpack from last semester have been dumped onto his desk (which, of course, have fallen onto the floor), half empty water bottles, cups, plates in places they shouldn’t be, television always on. The eerie white light of the screen flickering in his dark bedroom is enough to drive him crazy, but he’s already there, so does it matter?

He’s not entirely sure when the last time he turned the ceiling light on was. Can’t even remember if it works.

It’s a Hell hole, and he’s ashamed of it. And he doesn’t want to be nagged over it. So no one is allowed over. Except Mark. Who’s his… best friend, Jaehyun is pretty sure. Even if it might seem like they really aren’t—or maybe “shouldn’t be” is the right phrase. But Jaehyun can’t think of anything Mark could possibly be other than that—something he’ll only admit to himself in a quiet space in his mind. They met ten months prior at the start of fall semester. Mark is a freshman (becoming a sophomore), and they met in a basic general education class that Jaehyun had been putting off for two years. They’re different, but they clicked. And as clean and normal as Mark is, he doesn’t judge Jaehyun’s wreck of an existence.

Jaehyun just can’t do anything about it. He just _can’t_. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t feel like he needs to. Jaehyun doesn’t know what the problem is. Depression, or whatever. Mental illness, or whatever. Whatever. There’s probably a way to help it—no, there definitely is one. But—

Medication isn’t something he wants to take anymore for what his (ex?)therapist (he doesn’t go anymore) says is depression. It doesn’t feel like depression. He guesses? What does depression feel like? It could be something else, but do therapists ever know? (No.) But his schedule is too fucked up, can’t take it at normal times, forgets, has to eat with it, can only take it in the morning. Too many hindrances. Not to mention it absolutely kills his libido. Jaehyun likes to jack off, and Jaehyun likes to fuck. This “no libido” business isn’t something he wants to be a part of. Yeah, he hasn’t had sex since his hygiene went down the toilet, but that doesn’t mean he can’t jerk off, right? And Jaehyun does this fucked up thing where he takes his medicine every day for a good month, just to cut it cold turkey and have his libido spike to an ungodly level. It’s almost sick, and definitely not normal, but the orgasms are amazing, even if doing this is possibly fucking up his brain chemicals more. That’s a problem, so he’s stopped taking it altogether. Would rather be a wreck and able to come than fucked up even more, or something.

But—there is Mark. It’s not like Mark is passive to Jaehyun’s swirling vortex of hell (inside of him and his living space). There’s definitely been the nagging Jaehyun absolutely doesn’t want to hear, especially not from a nineteen year old. There have been fights over it, ignored each other because of the fights, so on. But Mark is extremely adamant about helping Jaehyun; and even though Jaehyun is a shitty person, Mark is still a good friend. Jaehyun seems to have some sort of healthy emotions floating around in the gray matter trapped in his skull, because it surprisingly hurts Jaehyun to see Mark upset over him. So he listens to Mark. At least now anyway. He promised him he would do some self-gathering while Mark is on vacation.

So Jaehyun is starting with his laundry.

At eleven p.m. on a Tuesday.

Only because he’s disgusting, and he can’t stand it anymore. He still brushes his teeth—he thinks he’d throw up if he didn’t at least do that; the nauseating feeling in his stomach and the disgust of an unclean mouth are two of the few things that bother him. But showering is another story. He does it, but it’s been a good three days (but three days is usually the maximum). His hair is becoming greasy, and his skin is crawling and feels too tight on his body. He wants to rake his nails down his arms to open himself up, rid himself of the itching tightness. But all of his clothes are dirty, and even Jaehyun has a limit with how much he can take. He hasn’t shaved as long as he hasn’t showered, and the stubble is scratchy; Jaehyun doesn’t see himself when he looks in the mirror.

So in order to bathe and shave, make his skin feel his again, he has to wash his clothes and bedding. He needs the return of normal habits. Mark said that’s the first step to feeling better.

Jaehyun’s been wearing the same sweatpants for a week. There’s the rule, you know? Sweatpants and jeans can go a week or more without needing to be washed. But Jaehyun doesn’t take into account that that rule probably only applies to people who aren’t wallowing in their own feelings—or in this case, lack thereof—decaying in their own abandonment of self-care. A week wearing the same sweatpants, and four days of the seven with no underwear. Jaehyun’s not trying to get a urinary tract infection with wearing dirty underwear, so obviously the only option is to not wear any at all (you know, or actually do his laundry).  

 

 

 

Eventually Jaehyun stuffs an encompassing one-fourth clothes, one-fourth towels, and all of his bedding into a very distressed, large blue mesh laundry bag. Just to get him through the next few days. As much as he would like to have all his laundry clean in one day, to spend five hours washing and drying a load of bedding, one of towels, and two loads of clothes, and then having to go home and put them all away (so they don’t get dirty again)—no fucking thanks. Jaehyun would rather eat glass.

The laundromat isn’t far from his student apartment, and Jaehyun thinks “What’s one more fucking thing?” in regards to having to carry his unfortunate mesh bag of the manifestation of his executive dysfunction. It’s some twenty-four hour coin laundry situated in the outlet of a grocery store—not a newer or renovated chain, but some locally owned, outdated piece of shit that hasn’t had a necessary technological update since 1999. An aura that makes you feel six years old shopping with your mom again type of grocery store. With that weird teal and red 1990’s accent and yellow lighting with its speckled tiled floors and 1980’s cash registers. The kind you feel at home in and like you’re in an alternate reality at the same time. Maybe this 1990’s energy is so influential that it affects all the outlet’s businesses, asserting itself as the dominant force.

Jaehyun’s never been to this laundromat. He had been using (when he was washing his clothes regularly) Mark’s dorm laundromat, but Mark is in overseas for the entire summer (and before then, he lived with his parents who had their own washer and dryer). Jaehyun is forced to not only do his laundry alone, but he has to _pay_ for it, too. His mind vividly flashes back to Mark saying “How are you gonna live without me for two months, dude?” And his high-pitched laugh following it.

Excuse you, Mark Lee. Jaehyun knows how to put clothes into a washing machine and insert coins into a slot, thanks. (Everything else: not so much. But he’s made it this far, hasn’t he?)

When Jaehyun opens the grimy glass door of the coin laundry, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is to see that it, too, is as outdated as the Autonomous Grocery Store of Unreality. He doesn’t greet the girl at the front desk—which is actually a short protruding wall at the front of the laundromat with a white folding table behind it. She looks tired. Of course she is. She works the night shift at a twenty-four hour coin laundry. She probably hates herself or her life much as the people who come in here this late.

It’s extremely brightly lit, and small compared to the new age laundromats, with their one hundred fancy washer-and-dryer sets and various soap and clothes stations. Here it’s a simple wall of ten washers, another simple wall of ten dryers, but the setup of it is unconventional: the far back wall is the washing machines, and the adjacent wall on the right is the dryers—old just like everything else in this odd outlet. It’s a shitty design, but it’s one of those jobs that once you’ve installed it it’s kind of hard to fix. On one of the dryers detergent, fabric softener, and dryer sheets are placed extremely carefully on top of it in a perfectly straight row. It’s curious.

There’s no color scheme—there are no colors at all. Everything is white. Or it was once, years of dust and use having taken over to discolor it. No pictures on the walls. There are also three vending machines: one of laundry detergent and fabric softener (how cutting edge), a Coca-Cola machine, and a snack machine. They look safe enough, and Jaehyun would probably risk his life for an old bag of Lays chips anyway.

A change machine that converts dollars into quarters sits next to the vending machines and a dirty door—“Maybe it leads nowhere.”—that probably leads to a storage and break room. NO PUBLIC RESTROOM is printed on laminated paper and taped to the door. A surprisingly living potted pothos is tucked away in the left corner of the front. (Jaehyun only knows what kind of plant it is exactly because he has put over seven hundred morbid hours into a life simulation Nintendo game he threw his first year of university away for.)

Jaehyun doesn’t know how he didn’t notice immediately, but there’s another person there; he’s sitting on one of the few gloss covered wooden benches (which are extremely off center) bolted haphazardly into the tiled floor. His elbows are pressed into where thigh becomes knee, hands supporting his chin, short dark hair with his bangs pulled back childishly into what could be considered a “half ponytail.” His hair clearly hasn’t been washed in a day or two, and the circles under his eyes are dark like bruises. He’s wearing a faded Guy Harvey t-shirt with cracked and peeling vinyl, mismatched sock covered feet, with a ratty pair of navy sweats with Jaehyun’s own university’s name printed white in a characteristically university font up the right calf, letting Jaehyun know they more than likely attend the same school.

This person looks more than just “tired.” It’s a visible uncomfortable heaviness pressing onto him, shoulders weak and eyes half lidded, face as scruffy as Jaehyun’s, and Jaehyun fathoms the weight too much to the point that his chest develops that sick empty-yet-full feeling that can’t even be accurately described as just anxiety. And despite the apparent exhaustion, he is still handsome. Well, that’s not fair, Jaehyun thinks. Here Jaehyun is looking like he crawled out of Hell unwillingly and looking damn unattractive while this equally sad son-of-bitch looks good.

But regardless, if Jaehyun didn’t look and feel like shit, and if this guy didn’t also feel like shit, and if it wasn’t eleven p.m. on a Tuesday night in a laundromat, he might have greeted him, at least with a nod or a hand motion—seeing as they’re two of the only three people here this late.

They don’t make eye contact.

Jaehyun shuffles his Nike slide-with-socks clad feet to the change machine after dropping the mesh bag of laundry in front of the nearest top-load washing machine. All he has is a twenty-dollar bill, so when the change dispenses with a bulleted pelting of metal in the tray it rips open tired, quiet, unreal air and reaches Jaehyun’s eardrums painfully. Jaehyun looks, almost sheepishly, to the person on the bench to see if that did anything at all, but he doesn’t seem phased. He pockets twenty-fucking-dollars’ worth of quarters, and the weight of them plus his cellphone drag his sweats down enough that he has to pull the drawstrings forward to tie the hem securely around his hips.

After some agonizing time, the vending machine finally drops his pathetic pack of detergent into the bottom compartment. The swinging door is difficult to push, and he swears his hand almost gets stuck, but the soap is retrieved eventually. (Fuck fabric softener. It’s not worth it.)

He jingles all the way to the washer.

 

 

 

It may be late at night for Jaehyun’s circle of friends, but it’s early in the day for Mark. And Jaehyun is doing something good and normal for once. After sitting on the bench for twenty minutes, staring at the badly lit parking lot, he pulls his phone from his pocket and opens the camera to take photo evidence of this amazing thing he has done: his fucking laundry. He sends the photo, and only a photo, and Mark replies quickly with a “Good job, bro :P”. Jaehyun catches himself smiling just a little, quick little quirk of his upper lip, at the screen before pocketing the phone. He’s thankful for Mark, honestly. Jaehyun hates admitting it, but it feels really nice for someone to be proud of the shit you have a hard time doing—even if it’s shit everyone else seems to do just fine. He doesn’t continue the conversation with Mark. He’s with his family after all, and Jaehyun isn’t really up for conversing with anyone. Doesn’t have the energy. Doesn’t fucking want to.

So he takes a seat on the bench—not next to that person, though—and puts his elbow on his knee and his cheek on his fist, facing the front windows of the coin laundry that give him a goddamn beautiful view of cracked black asphalt, a couple of junky cars, and ancient parking lot light posts that occasionally flicker.

The other person never moves.

And then nothing else.

Just tired Jaehyun with his disgusting laundry, tired front desk girl with her sad life, tired apple-hair-styled boy with is jaw on his palms, and an extremely loud silence completely separate from the whirr of one dryer and vending machines that makes the blood in Jaehyun’s head buzz in his ears.

 

 

 

 

Jaehyun’s eyes fly open when he processes consciousness, panicking, and they burn dully at the sudden intake of light. He didn’t mean to fall asleep; the thought of being here when the sun rises is unsettling. As if this is not a place you should be when the sun is up. Jaehyun doesn’t understand it. The emptiness and quiet of night time and the unreality of it all fit this place; it’d be weird (funnily enough) to experience it during the daytime.

The distorted view of the laundromat and parking lot is sideways, and that’s when Jaehyun realizes he’s laying down. His hood is pulled up, hands in his pockets, knees bent with his feet firm on the floor. God, just how tired was he lately? One of the dryers tumbles away noisily.

He pushes himself up, back killing him, and notices the person is gone and front desk girl has been replaced with someone else. His arms are crossed on the desk, face in the center of them, dyed hair shoved into a beanie. Must’ve been a shift change while Jaehyun was knocked out.

It’s still dark outside, so Jaehyun assumes it’s only a little past one a.m. He’s surprised the quarters in his pocket didn’t fall out while he was laying down.

Rising slowly from the bench, the slides on his feet clap against the tile on his way to his washing machine. It’s stopped by now, of course, and after lifting the lid he sees it’s empty.

A dryer cuts off abruptly, a soft buzzer ringing through the air. No one else is here, so that dryer _has_ to have his clothes in it if they’re not in this washer, Jaehyun deduces. But he’s sure he would’ve remembered putting them in there. Jaehyun looks around the room quickly for a good measure. Just to make sure it couldn’t possibly be anyone else’s. He’s alone.

Jaehyun’s phone vibrates once in his pocket, and he pulls it out to check the message (probably from Mark), and sees that it’s not one a.m., but three a.m. Shit.

The silence and Jaehyun standing dumbly in the middle of the laundromat are interrupted by a deep voice from the front.

“He put your clothes in there for you,” he says. And Jaehyun turns around stupidly. He locks eyes with the front desk replacement; he looks angry, and he can’t tell if the circles under his eyes are because of them being deep set or from lack of sleep. Probably both. Broad nose, thick mouth, strong jaw. He’s scary and looks like he could punch Jaehyun’s ribs into his lungs if he wanted to. Woah, woah, enough morbid fantasies in the middle of normal conversation.

“The guy from earlier?” No shit, Jaehyun. No one else was here.

“Think he stole the quarters from your pocket to pay for it, but yeah.” But Angry Guy doesn’t sound angry, just extremely non-committal, as if he’d rather not continue talking, and returns to looking mindlessly at his phone, thick text book underneath his hands. Jaehyun doesn’t see him crack a smile, or a single facial expression at all for that matter. Jaehyun likes this guy.

Jaehyun doesn’t respond. Feels it isn’t necessary to and doubts front desk guy even cares to hear a response anyway. And it doesn’t really bother him that the stranger from before dug through his grimy sweats for some quarters. Nice of him to do this for him. And it saved Jaehyun two hours he would’ve lost if he hadn’t done it for Jaehyun. Jaehyun might be—what’s the feeling?—touched? But amused. Oddly excited. Even if he should be freaked out, probably. I mean, it’s weird, right? Jaehyun doesn’t care at this point.

When Jaehyun gets home he dumps all the laundry onto his bed, moving it to one side so he can sleep on the other, and then grabs the change from his pocket and lets it fall onto the bedside table. Right before losing consciousness for the second time that night, Jaehyun realizes he’s missing more quarters than he’s not supposed to be missing and that he never replied to Mark’s text message.

 

 

 

 

The next three days Jaehyun does make his bed, shower, shave, put away his clothes, exist. But the last two are used lightly. All Jaehyun did was throw his clothes in a white clothes basket he found in the top of his closet from when he moved in; and the only form of existing he’s done was binge watch the first three seasons of _Orange is the New Black_ on Netflix in the dark. Summer semester officially ended last Friday morning after his final exam, and Jaehyun hasn’t seen a single person since then except the three people he’s encountered at the laundromat, passersby in their cars, random citizens going about their business on his late night walk to said laundromat. Jaehyun is actually starting to question the “existence” thing. Maybe “existence” _is_ too light to use. Jaehyun’s going to disassociate if the thinks too hard about it.

But his skin feels better. His face feels better. When he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t feel detached from himself. The dark circles are still there; the tiredness in his eyes is still there. He’s still wearing sweats and shorts and t-shirts instead of real clothing. Jaehyun doesn’t think he can manage the over stimulating feeling of rough jean fabric tight around his legs and jackets over shirts touching too much skin at once with too much weight. Hoodies without shirts are fine. Sweats and shorts are fine. Slip on Vans and Nike slides are fine.

He’s decided to finish the rest of the laundry and put it away today. That requires going to the laundromat at a normal time if he wants to get this all done at a decent time. Like a functioning adult who is responsible. But Jaehyun doesn’t want to meet with anyone. It’s Friday, and he’s not sure what laundromats are like on Fridays. Would they be busy since it’s the weekend like restaurants and stores are? But most people going to laundromats don’t have Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. jobs. It being Friday means nothing. It could be completely empty; twenty people could be there. Jaehyun doesn't know.

It’s not like he’s so adamant about avoiding people because he can’t stand them or that it’s uncomfortable. He isn’t anti-social and not necessarily introverted. Jaehyun isn’t sure why he wants to go when there aren’t people there. Maybe there is something extremely comforting to him about being alone in a public place. Jaehyun isn’t sure if that’s normal or not. Jaehyun feels like he can’t really recognize what’s considered abnormal anymore. Maybe that freaky grocery store aura gets him off.

Having thought all of that through earlier, it’s now two in the morning, and here Jaehyun is in the shared parking lot of the outlet, blue mesh laundry bag in his grip infinitely less stressed this go around. The remainder of the quarters from Tuesday are in the front pocket of his hoodie, pulling the pocket hideously. Not wearing sweats today. He’s wearing ugly gym shorts from his final year of high school. They have bleach stains on them from the time he helped Taeil (now graduated but still attending the university as a graduate student) bleach his hair in Taeil’s then dorm room, and his name is written messily in fading permanent marker on the hem of the right leg.

When Jaehyun pushes the glass door open with his free hand, his line of vision is immediately interrupted with the same person from Tuesday night. Sitting right on top of a washing machine eating fucking Oreos, horn rimmed glasses set on his good-looking face. The front desk person from the other night is there, again looking at his phone, not minding that the person is doing something he probably isn’t allowed to do (they must be friends, if nothing else). Quarter Thief looks different today—almost like a different person. And by that, Jaehyun means he’s cleaned up, hair not tied back, face shaved. He seems less tired—in a good mood even. Can’t relate, but it’s nice that his terrible aura from Tuesday has become less heavy.

They make eye contact, and if Jaehyun had shame he might’ve looked away. The person smiles with his lips closed—in a knowing way, but Jaehyun isn’t sure he knows—and Jaehyun quirks a corner of his mouth up to resemble an awkward smirk. It’s too late to speak, and Jaehyun’s not sure if he wants to.

Why is this person even here again? But Jaehyun guesses it’s not fair to ask that, seeing as how he’s also here not even twenty-four hours later.

Jaehyun walks to a washer not far from the person, and inserts quarters into it’s slot before opening its lid.

“Ten,” the front desk guy says loudly (but not rudely, maybe even a little pleadingly), eyes now on his textbook in front of him instead of his phone. Jaehyun makes a grimace at the sudden and weird disruption of a single word until the front desk person continues speaking. “Get off the machine. If she knows I let you do it I’ll have my ass handed to me.”

The person slides down wordlessly. Jaehyun realizes that “Ten” is Quarter Thief’s name.

Jaehyun sits on a bench and pulls his phone out and zones out with texting Mark occasionally, dicking around on social media, playing God awful rhythm games he might have sold his soul to. There are other people there tonight, surprisingly (since he had come even later this time than the last), and he recognizes two of the girls as his neighbors at the student apartment complex. Or, well, building mates? They don’t actually live next door to him. He’s had a few classes with both of them, their majors being similar to his most likely, causing their classes to dip into each other. They’re also graduate students now, and Jaehyun doesn’t understand how so many people can put themselves through it, but whatever. One has her thighs splayed as she sits on the bench, hair tied up out of her face. The other has her cheek nestled onto the girl’s thigh, eyes closed. It’s calming to look at them, and Jaehyun feels that being here with more people may be more comfortable than not.

Time passes, eventually an hour, and Ten leaves without saying goodbye to the front desk person, his own basket of clean clothes in tow. Jaehyun watches him leave, then looks at the front desk guy for any expression that would let him know how close they are. Front desk guy is already looking at Jaehyun, smirking in a way that pisses him off, and goes back to studying with a light shake of his head. What the fuck is that supposed to mean.

Jaehyun swaps his laundry.

 

 

 

 

When Jaehyun arrives at his apartment complex at 4 a.m., he thinks he catches sight of the stranger from the laundromat walking up the stairs of the building next to his. He does a double take, but he doesn’t see anyone. Jaehyun must be tired and losing his mind. He’s starting to doubt Ten is even real at this point, Jaehyun jokes. Jaehyun quickly waves the thought away; those kind of thoughts are always dangerous.

 

 

 

 

A week passes, and Jaehyun hasn’t had the need to go back to the laundromat. Jaehyun hates it, but he’s reminded of Ten’s existence (questionable at this point) every time he leaves his building and the one next door enters his view. Jaehyun never sees him when he leaves for the grocery store or gas station, not at the complex or inside the laundromat, and he’s starting to think he really is crazy and that Ten really doesn’t exist.

Yes, Jaehyun went into the laundromat; and yes, his clothes are laundered. But is that genuine evidence that the laundromat isn’t a separate reality? That the people who work there aren’t part of it, or don’t exist really at all? That when Jaehyun fell asleep he woke up in an alternate universe? Rationally, the proof that he had less quarters than he was supposed should be enough. For all Jaehyun knows, the twenty-dollars was as unreal as the laundromat. He can’t remember how long the bill had been in his wallet. So of course someone equally unreal would be able to take the quarters. What went on in the coin laundry could still come out into the reality Jaehyun existed in--which is why his quarters and laundry exist still. Does the laundromat even have a name?

He laughs to himself. What the fuck? Is Jaehyun okay? He doesn’t dwell on it. He probably just needs social interaction and a normal sleeping schedule.

If anything, Jaehyun wants to see Ten again just to prove to himself he hasn’t lost his mind.

 

 

 

 

This isn’t what Jaehyun meant when he felt he wanted to see Ten again.

Taeyong invited him out, and after not having done anything wild and reckless in a month, Jaehyun agreed. And to cut a boring story he’s experienced more than enough times short, he has ditched Taeyong (who more than likely does not care) and is unlocking his front door, girl he’s brought home pressed against his back. Her hands are under his shirt, flat against his abdominals, eventually traveling to the hem of his jeans to unbutton them. He hasn’t fucked in forever, and honestly, it’s like _finally_.

But Jaehyun doesn’t know what compels him to turn his head, random girl’s mouth on his neck, as he gets his door open. Ten is in the parking lot, or at least an extremely clear image of him is, and he’s with the guy from the laundromat front desk. And suddenly the fingers of the girl that have reached past his underwear to play with his pubic hair and hardening cock feel awkward. And the worst thing about this is that he’s sober. Why now of all the fucking times? Jaehyun’s decided he’s being haunted, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get off tonight. He still wants to fuck her, and clearly she wants the same.

His room is still a disaster but infinitely less so than a week ago. Honestly, Jaehyun couldn’t care less what his room looks like right now. And apparently neither does this girl. Maybe they’re both desperate. At least his bed is clean.

She backs into the bed, arms thrown around Jaehyun to pull him down on top of her. It’s so dark Jaehyun can barely see her face, but they meet in a sloppy uncoordinated kiss that could be considered wet and painful. He’d be lying to himself if he said he was aroused, but it’s been a long time, and he needs it.

Her thighs spread and enclose around Jaehyun’s own before he strips, yanking his already unzipped jeans down to his knees, bringing his boxers with him. If this was intimate sex, and if he wanted to take his time, and if he knew this girl, he’d help her undress. Admire her doing it, even. But right now, they’re just two warm bodies. Another person to add to the body count. And Jaehyun is perfectly fine with that.

And when her lips press into his again, and her bare thighs and knees press into his hips and ribs, Quarter Thief rears his beautiful fucking tired head in the very front of Jaehyun’s foul mind.

Jaehyun freezes and his eyes close. “Shit.”

She pauses and rests her weight on her elbows. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he lies. “Where were we?”

 

 

 

Jaehyun hates himself.

The sex was great. And only because he’s a disaster of a person who fantasized about an extremely attractive stranger he’s only seen three times while fucking a girl he also just met. Thanks for helping him come, Jaehyun thinks.

 _Fuck_ , Jaehyun hates himself. And he can’t sleep in his bed after what just happened. It reeks of sex and sweat. He should be glad, victorious even, that he’s finally done something sexual and not with his own hand. But the vivid image of some random man he only knows the name of because of someone saying it out loud, someone he’s not entirely sure is real, flashing in the forefront of his mind instead of the girl he’s with isn’t what Jaehyun would consider calming or prideful.

God, Jaehyun is a freak.

And on top of that, he has to venture to the goddamn coin laundry so he can sleep in his bed tonight. A new kind of “walk of shame.”

So he gathers his bedding into that sad mesh bag and walks to the laundromat, not even bothering showering. Fuck it. Jaehyun’s not sure what the day is or what time it is. The sun is down. That’s all he knows. He throws on a ratty hoodie and pulls on an equally old pair of sweats, nor even bothering with underwear. Fuck it!

It’s so humid, and if Jaehyun didn’t look fucked before, he does now. And when he opens the door, front desk guy makes a comment on it immediately. Jaehyun doesn’t even have time to register his surroundings. He didn’t think he’d see him here. Did he really imagine them in the parking lot?

“Shit, you look awful,” the guy says.

“Worse than the first time you saw me?” Jaehyun asks sarcastically, shuffling to the furthest left washing machine. Jaehyun can’t even be bothered to ask the guy’s damn name.

“Two different kinds of awful.”

That’s fair. Jaehyun snorts.

Jaehyun hears the fold out chair scrape across the floor. “I’m taking my break,” front desk guy announces. Jaehyun almost turns, thinking it was directed at him, but stops short when the guy continues. “You want anything from the gas station, Ten?” And at that, Jaehyun jerks his head to the right to see Ten sitting cross legged on one of the benches. Shit. Of course.

Ten briefly looks at Jaehyun, eyes fluttering down to their corners and mouth cracking a small smile, and then back at the front desk guy. He looks tired again tonight, and Jaehyun wonders what goes on in this person’s life. Maybe nothing special. Jaehyun can’t say his own causes for dread and grief are anything other than boring. Ten shakes his head in response.

“I’ll bring you something,” front desk guy says, and then he leaves. Jaehyun watches him the entire time, until the person turns a corner and Jaehyun can no longer see him. He still hasn’t heard Ten speak, and it’s starting to freak him out even more.

Jaehyun wants to ignore how heavy the atmosphere is, and he can’t tell if he’s making it up or if it really exists. It’s crushing, almost. He stuffs his shameful bedding into the washer, and inserts the needed quarters. They’re visibly dwindling, and he probably only has enough for one more laundromat excursion before he has to break another twenty-dollar bill.

When he inserts more quarters into the detergent vending machine, they make a grating clink that further throws off the atmosphere. The sound feels so isolated, and Ten hasn’t made a single sound, let alone a movement. Jaehyun swallows thickly, and he can feel the panic blooming in his chest.

What if Ten isn’t real? What if this laundromat really is an alternate reality? What if that grocery store has created a rip in spacetime, and Jaehyun is the only one who’s noticed? And Ten and front desk guy are surreal beings haunting Jaehyun?

Jaehyun can’t stand it. He can’t stand how loud the silence is, how the fan in the corner makes a rattling sound when it oscillates, how the dryer tumbles on the right side. How Ten never does anything other than acknowledge him and the front desk person.

His heart is beating faster, and the detergent drops into the compartment with a thud. He needs to confirm this.

Jaehyun turns around quickly to face Ten and yells, “Are you real?!”

Ten violently jumps at question with a soft _Ah!_ , glasses misplaced on his nose, and his face contorts into a look of ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ “Yes?” Ten answers and fixes his glasses, removing his feet from under his thighs to plant them on the floor.

Jaehyun’s chest calms down. Okay, he hasn’t lost the rest of his mind. His shoulders relax (he didn’t know they were tensed). “That’s…” Jaehyun doesn’t know what to say. “...Good.”

Ten furrows his eyebrows, raising one, and quirks his lips. “Are you?” Jaehyun knows Ten is fucking with him, but he can’t be mad.

“Unfortunately.” And Ten laughs at that. Jaehyun smiles.

“You live at the student complex, right?” Ten asks him.

“Uh, yeah,” Jaehyun says, finally removing the detergent from the vending machine. Jaehyun feels a little awkward speaking to this person finally, especially since he’s the sole reason Jaehyun panicked during sex tonight. Jaehyun’s life is a fucking joke. At least Ten is real and not haunting him.

“What year are you?” Ten asks, turning to Jaehyun and assuming the crisscrossed position again.

“Junior,” Jaehyun replies, voice a little shaky. “Technically.” He has three more credits to get before he reaches junior status, but he has attended university for three years. So, yeah, technically.

“Oh, really? I’m graduating next spring.” Ten pauses. “Hopefully,” he adds with a laugh. And this mundane, boring conversation makes Jaehyun feel okay, and maybe a little calm. This is fine.

Jaehyun’s curiosity gets the best of him, and he deviates from the topic at hand. “Why are you always here?”

“Why are you?”

“Touché.” Jaehyun starts the washing machine. “My life is a disaster, I guess,” he replies anyway.

“Understandable,” Ten says, pulling his sleeves past his fists. “I won’t ask about it, but I relate.” And that’s all Ten says, and Jaehyun doesn’t ask about it further. Jaehyun walks up to the bench Ten is sitting on and sits next to him effortlessly. He doesn’t look at him.

“Wanna go to the diner when Johnny gets back?” Ten says suddenly. Jaehyun assumes Johnny is front desk guy. Jaehyun and Ten haven't even formally introduced themselves yet.

Jaehyun’s eyes widen, a sort of panic in his chest. “Sure,” Jaehyun says. “Shit, I left my wallet at home,” he realizes, shoving his hands deep in his pockets to find it.  Great.

“I got you,” Ten tells him, pushing himself up. “I stole your quarters anyway.”

And it’s not that Jaehyun doesn’t want to eat questionable diner food with a good looking quarter thief, but Jaehyun looks wrecked. “The way I look,” is all Jaehyun says. Ten glances at Jaehyun’s lap. Jaehyun presses his fingers into his forehead.

“I don’t think anyone at a twenty-four hour diner at three in the morning will care.”

“You’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> No need to comment or kudo unless you'd like to. Thank you for reading for the second time. Or the first time.


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